I had met a fellow in the business of selling illegal guns who wanted to know if I was interested in becoming involved in the trade. I was. He had a couple of bright silver guns he was getting ready to take to show to someone. Both guns only cost $100. One gun was a handgun and the other looked like something like a machine gun. Both were large caliber guns. I paid for the guns and I was supposed to make a profit when we sold them.
Together we went to a house in a black section of town. We found the person we were looking for, a black boy (only about 16-17 years old) and we showed him the guns. He didn't have the money at the moment and he wanted us to return later. After we left, the other fellow decided he was going to let me handle the transaction completely by myself and he gave me the guns.
The next day I drove my Volkswagen back to the boy's house. I felt quite apprehensive because the run-down house was in a bad ghetto neighborhood. It looked as if some rough characters were living in the house. Apparently the boy to whom I was selling the guns was living with a couple of his brothers without any supervision.
I found the boy in one of the rooms of the house with a couple other black fellows. Someone asked me what I was selling and I told them I was selling plants. I had some kind of long chain with me that looked as if it might be used to hang plants from the ceiling. Someone mentioned drugs and I figured this was the kind of building where a lot of drugs were probably sold.
The boy took me into another room, told me he was sorry but he just couldn't get the money together for the guns; I realized I was going to be stuck with the guns. The boy said it was his first time to buy anything like that and I said, "Well it's my first time too. It's the first time I've sold any."
He didn't seem interested in my problems. Through a window I could see some black fellows in the hallway. The boy said he would walk out with me and I was glad because it was going to be dangerous enough the way it was. I made it to the door, walked out of the building and headed down the street. I was wearing a recently-bought blue coat which fell all the way to the ground. I wanted to run to my car, but when I tried, I discovered the coat was so heavy that I couldn't run in it. So I just plodded along, a little frightened by all the black people around me.
I noticed coming down the other side of the street some white men who were all wearing construction helmets with little lights on them. Apparently the lights were used to distinguish the men so people here wouldn't bother them. I finally reached my car and was amazed that I had made it back safely.
I realized I was in Canada. I wasn't going to be able to take the guns back to the United States because it would be too dangerous to take them back across the border since they were illegal. I began looking the guns over and noticed a serial number on the machine gun. I wondered where the guns had been manufactured.
I was beginning to have some doubts about the business in general. I was now stuck with the guns and had lost the money I had invested. I had enough other money so it didn't make that much difference to me, but it had just generally been a bad deal and I shouldn't have gotten involved with the business to begin with. nevertheless, I rather liked the guns and I thought I would probably just keep them around the house wherever I was living.
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